


pathetic fragile supervillain

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [41]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I don’t like this about me, okay?” Robbie asks. “It’s like a fucking cliche, the bitter single person resenting everyone else’s happiness. Like, fuck, apparently I’m the villain in a shitty movie. Destroying everyone else’s happiness in a single bound!”Saul’s smiling a little. “What?” Robbie demands.“You’re Superman?” Saul asks.





	pathetic fragile supervillain

Robbie has had two pretty successful sessions with Saul by the time his father gets home, successful in that he didn’t burst into tears once, and that he managed to bring Georgie up without gagging on it, after Saul assured him, probably for the thousandth time, about the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing. He’s a pretty patient dude, Robbie has to say. He hasn’t rolled his eyes at Robbie once, and _Robbie’s_ wanted to roll his eyes at Robbie.

“Have you looked into training?” his ma asks him on the way back from the second session. “Anything in the area, maybe?”

“Jesus, you want me to do _everything_ right now?” Robbie snaps, then, immediately contrite, “Sorry,” because if she hates swearing, she _really_ hates taking the Lord’s name in vain. 

“It’s your job, Roberto,” she says, and fuck. Robbie can just imagine the look on Rutledge’s face when he came in to training camp, all, ‘Sorry I look like a fucking mess, I just wanted to match outside and inside and also you basically ruined my life with that trade last season.’

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll find something.”

Robbie checks in with an old Terrier teammate of his, now on the Flames, putting out feelers, and ends up getting an invite to training in Allston with a few other Massholes. Robbie doesn’t have the luxury of turning it down and trying to find a trainer who doesn’t suck, not this late in offseason, so he sends a thanks and gets his ass up bright and fucking early, shuffling in a week late, when everyone already knows one another and the trainer knows them.

“Braden said you had some family issues?” the trainer, Pete, says, after Robbie basically flounders through every fucking exercise that morning.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. It seemed like the kind of thing Braden wouldn’t ask follow-up questions about, and he didn’t. “Sorry to like, jump in on you, I know I’ve kind of let things slip.”

“Happens to everyone,” Pete says, though Robbie’s pretty sure that isn’t true.

The first day fucking sucks. He feels pathetically out of shape. It’s amazing what less than a month out of the habit will do, but Robbie’s winded within the first hour, and by the end of the day he’s fucking wiped, barely makes it home before he crashes in bed, sleeps almost twelve hours straight through.

The second day? Yeah, that also sucks.

Day three Braden drags him out for dinner after, and Robbie can’t refuse, even though he just wants to go home, because Braden’s the one who sealed the deal, and he’s the only one there, other than maybe Pete, that Robbie’s said more than a couple sentences to.

“Family shit’s all okay now?” Braden asks, and Robbie gives him a thumbs up through his spaghetti. 

“Honestly surprised you aren’t in the Finals right now,” Braden says.

“Seriously, Braden?” Robbie asks. “Salt, wound.”

“I mean it in a good way!” Braden says. “You were a fucking beast. You and Georgie, man. I swear, I blinked and I was back in college.”

Robbie knows it’s not meant as a dig. The only him and Georgie Braden ever saw was the two of them inseparable, unstoppable. He manages to smile, he thinks. Braden doesn’t recoil, so he’s doing better than he was before, at least.

“Glad I’m not in your Conference, all I’m saying,” Braden says. 

“Glad I’m not in yours,” Robbie says, falling into chirping, which is easy, rote. “I’d have to see you more.”

“You’re paying for dinner,” Braden says, and then orders dessert just to be a dick.

*

“How’d training feel?” Saul asks, when Robbie slumps in after day four. He has evening hours, which is good, since no way Robbie’s skipping out of training, and his father’s just going to assume he went to dinner with Braden or someone again.

“You ever train?” Robbie asks. “Like, hardcore, not just hitting the gym for an hour or two.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Saul says.

“It’s not pleasure,” Robbie says. “It sucks, and then it sucks some more, and then you hit a wall and it sucks _so fucking bad_.”

“So why train?” Saul asks.

“Because you have to get better or you get left in the dust,” Robbie says, then frowns. “Hey, did you just do some, like, therapy metaphor?”

Saul raises his eyebrows, but Robbie’s fucking _onto_ him. “Training makes you stronger, then,” he says blandly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robbie says. “I got a degree of my own, I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

Saul smiles, and his smiles are unfortunately contagious.

*

Week two of training sucks too, but it sucks less than the first week, so Robbie’s going to take that as progress. Whatever he can get, basically. It’s a lot of juggling: training, therapy, seeing Braden a couple times outside of it, for dinner again and a video game session Robbie thrashes him at, dinner once with this dude Tory who plays for the Kings and reminds him of Craney, but like, not a goalie, so a little less… _Craney_.

Matty’s started dating this girl up in Alberta, where he’s training, and the only reason he knows anything about it, despite the fact he’s getting daily texts from Matty, is through Wheels, who’s in _Virginia_ for training, so Matty has _no excuse_.

“What the fuck?” Robbie asks, when he finally gets Matty on the line.

“What’d I do?” Matty asks.

“Who’s this Rebecca and why am I only hearing about her from Wheels?” Robbie asks.

“I just thought—” Matty says. “I don’t know.”

“You just thought what?” Robbie asks.

“It’s nothing,” Matty says.

“You just thought I’d be like, what?” Robbie says. “A dick about it?”

“I didn’t think that,” Matty says. “I just thought that you might not, I don’t know.”

“Spit it out, Elliott,” Robbie says.

“I just thought you might not want to hear about it right now,” Matty says.

“So I’m just a pathetic, fragile—” Robbie says.

“I didn’t say that—” Matty interrupts.

“Fuck off, Elliott,” Robbie says, and hangs up.

 _Sorry_ , Matty texts, almost as soon as he drops his phone. _I should have told you_.

 _Fucking right_ , Robbie texts back, then, _Sorry I hung up on you._

 _All cool!_ , Matty texts back, along with a smiley, and Robbie doesn’t know why, but it makes him want to cry.

*

“ _Are_ you upset by it?” Saul asks, when Robbie brings it up, which is like dirty fucking pool.

“Am I upset that my best friend is happy?” Robbie asks. “Seriously, Saul?”

Saul doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t like this about me, okay?” Robbie asks. “It’s like a fucking cliche, the bitter single person resenting everyone else’s happiness. Like, fuck, apparently I’m the villain in a shitty movie. Destroying everyone else’s happiness in a single bound!” 

Saul’s smiling a little. “What?” Robbie demands.

“You’re Superman?” Saul asks.

“Hey, if I’m making up my supervillain identity, I get to choose my influences,” Robbie says. “What do you think my name should be? I’m torn between something hockey related or just straight up evil sounding.”

“Robbie,” Saul says. Robbie _hates_ when he says his name like that.

“You never let me decide on my supervillain identity,” Robbie says. “Is it because it’s something you’d have to report me for?”

Saul smiles again.

“Okay,” Robbie says. “Ask your dumb question.”

“Are you more upset that Matty got a girlfriend, or that he didn’t tell you about it?” Saul asks.

“I mean, am I such a shitty friend that he thought I’d be like, mad?” Robbie asks. “Like just because everything sucks right now I want everything to suck for him? And yeah, like, fuck, I get it, but it’s _Matty_. _Nothing_ should suck for him.”

“Robbie?” Saul says. “I don’t think you need to think of a supervillain name quite yet.”

Robbie bites his lip, hard, but that doesn’t stop the tears.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles. Seriously, of all the fucking times to need the tissue box. “Why the fuck do they have to be covered in flowers every time?” Robbie says, grabbing a tissue. Last week was roses, this box is who even knows what the fuck, but flowers again. “Like, fuck, is there anything gayer than crying into flowers? Not me gay, like, gay gay.”

“What’s gay gay?” Saul asks.

“You know exactly what it is,” Robbie says, and grabs another tissue.

*

The next time Robbie goes to Saul’s, three days later, the flowers have been replaced by a very familiar logo.

“Where the fuck did you find Superman tissues?” Robbie asks.

Saul shrugs. “The dollar store is an amazing place,” he says.

Robbie can’t hold back a laugh. “You planning on making me cry again?” he asks.

“I’d like to talk about your father,” Saul says.

“That is such a fucking cliche, holy shit,” Robbie says. “Do you want to talk about my childhood next? Did I have problems toilet training? Could that be it, Dr. Freud?”

“You talk about your mother a lot,” Saul says.

“So?” Robbie says.

“But not your father,” Saul says.

“So?” Robbie asks. “Maybe things are perfect. I talk about Georgie a lot, sure as shit doesn’t make him a saint.”

“Are things perfect?” Saul asks.

Robbie walked himself into that one, he guesses. “They’re fine,” he says.

“How does he feel, you living with him?” Saul asks.

Robbie shrugs. “How should I know?” he asks. “We don’t really talk about like, feelings and shit. You got a list of these or something?”

“How did he react to finding out you were gay?” Saul asks, because apparently he fucking does.

“He didn’t talk to me for three days,” Robbie says. “Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?”

Saul doesn’t say anything, and Robbie furiously grabs the Superman box and pulls it to his chest. 

“I’m keeping this,” he says.

“You’re welcome to,” Saul says. “I got it for you.”

“Fuck,” Robbie says, and grabs a tissue from the box.

Saul waits him out. Dollar store tissues are scratchier than the ones Saul had last week. Robbie guesses that makes sense. “If you’ve got a list you may as well get it over with,” he mumbles.

“How did he feel about your relationship with Georgie?” Saul asks.

“He loved him,” Robbie says. “I swear, it was like, proud dad shit. You wouldn’t guess who was his kid, there. He loved him.”

“How did he feel about your relationship with Georgie?” Saul asks.

“Didn’t I just answer you?” Robbie asks.

“You told me how he felt about Georgie,” Saul says.

“What’s the difference?” Robbie asks.

Saul doesn’t say anything.

“He didn’t talk about it,” Robbie says. “Not with me.”

“Did he talk about it with other people?” Saul asks.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says. “He doesn’t really talk to me much, how the fuck should I know?”

“Did he talk to you more before you came out to him?” Saul asks.

“Like, what, do you want me to say my father’s a fucking homophobe?” Robbie asks. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“Is he?” Saul asks.

“Fuck,” Robbie says. “You know he is, so why do you keep pushing me on this? You know what else he thinks? He thinks therapy’s a fucking cash grab and people who’re depressed are just fucking pussies who need to man up and get over it. What do you think of that, Dr. Berkowitz? Got enough of my cash yet?”

Saul barely blinks. Robbie will give him this, he’s got the best poker face Robbie has ever seen, and Robbie’s friends with Devon fucking Crane.

“Your Superman Kleenex scratches,” Robbie says thickly, and Saul hands him another stupid flowery box without a word.

*

Robbie drove himself in from training, but he feels exhausted after his time with Saul is up, as exhausted as the first day of training all over again. His ma’s agreed to pick him up, but in the meantime he sits with an iced coffee, like it’ll do something to wake him up, crossing his fucking fingers no one recognizes him, which has happened a couple times since he got home, once a Caps fan, once a former classmate at BU. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Robbie thumbs idly through his phone, an Instagram pic of Dougie and Lauren looking cute, which sends a pang through him, a tweet by Volkie with a video of him and David and Kurmazov training. Nothing for him specifically, except a text from Matty asking how his day is, which feels somehow worse than nothing at all.

 _Okay_ , Robbie texts, though that’s a total lie, scrolls through his text chains, which seem to have all dried up, getting back to May in a few flicks of the thumb.

 _Don’t_ , he thinks, in a voice that sounds very much like if Saul and his mother lectured him in tandem. 

_I know this is a lot to ask but I really need you to tell me you give a shit about me right now_ , Robbie texts, fast, not even looking before he sends it, because he knows he’ll want to stop himself if he does, and he — he wants to stop himself, but not as much as he wants to hear it.

 _That’s not a lot to ask_ , Georgie texts back almost immediately. _I give a lot of shits about you._

Robbie swallows once, twice.

 _Thank you_ , he texts finally, and tucks his phone away until his mom calls him to say she’s arrived.


End file.
